


More Hearts Being Broken (Or People Being Used) (SDV Shane)

by RockWithItWriting



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Light Angst, M/M, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-30 18:29:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17833862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RockWithItWriting/pseuds/RockWithItWriting
Summary: requested by: my hyperfixationword count: 2399warnings: smut, mentions of depression, mentions of drug use, implied alcoholism





	More Hearts Being Broken (Or People Being Used) (SDV Shane)

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Winter holds nothing for Trevor. The land is barren and cold. The animals stay cooped up in their heated homes. He has no plants to tend to.

So Trevor spends his days with a sword in his hands, finding creaky ladders and deposits of ore and lining his pockets with treasures. He spends his nights in the forest to the South of his farm, axe in hand, making blisters and lining his wood wagon to keep his fireplace warm for the rest of winter. That’s how he spends every single day.

Until Shane notices.

Shane notices because, when Trevor would walk to town with the wagon trailing behind him, the farmer would stop and offer fresh produce to Shane. And the elder man would use it, like he uses everything else, to just talk to Trevor. To look at him. To imagine. To feel the hot slide of his skin, and hear his moans, but then to go home and take care of himself. Shane wouldn’t dare voice these to Trevor. _Strong_ Trevor, _straight_ Trevor, _best friends with Haley_ Trevor.

Trevor limps home, sword dragging in the snow as he shivers. The mines have been unforgiving, as the fortune teller said, but he has to have something to do. He didn’t find any ore, but he had his pockets lined with stones fit for making a new fence around his animal coops. He throws his sword into the pile of all of his other tools - iron already scratched and scarred from the near year of work - and heads around his house to his front door. He hopes that he still has that first aid kit from the saddlebags of his motorcycle in the bathroom because the snow is falling at an increased pace and he doesn’t really want to go back outside.

Trevor stops, swaying slightly in the frigid wind when he sees Shane standing on his porch. He watches Shane knock on the door, shifting, and can’t help but flush. Sure, he’d been ignoring Shane since he had run out of fall produce to offer, but he’d never expected the man to show up at his home. Winter is barren, but with Shane, on his porch, it doesn’t seem so bad.

“Shane, over here.” Trevor winces when the other man’s eyes widen, taking in the way he’s holding his stomach and the way the blood is bubbling over his fingers. “Have you been outside long?”  
  
“You’re hurt.”

Trevor waves him off and unlocks the door, letting the men into the old, waning warmth of a fire long extinguished by time. He gestures to the living room for Shane - Trevor can see the shape of take-out containers and a six pack under his sweater - and heads to the bathroom. They dance around each other wordlessly, like old lovers, and it’s only when the bathroom door clicks shut that Trevor collapses. He leans against the sink and slowly peels layers away, shivering as he does so. The stupid fucking crab - he curses as he wipes away the blood. It’s replaced with blood that’s redder and thinner than before; _shit_ , were those things poisoned? Did their claws have toxins? He shakes the thought off and dresses his wound slowly, carefully. It takes longer than he cares to admit and Trevor only realizes that when Shane knocks on the bathroom door.

“I started a fire,” His gruff voice is muffled through the thick, oak wood that Trevor built the door with, “I’m not, uh, very good at it. Are you okay?”

Trevor, decidedly, is not okay. He’s woozy from an empty stomach and the hole just under his belly button. He’s a quiet man, but he can’t stop thinking. Winter is barren outside and inside. But now there’s a person, and the person is in his house, and the person is speaking. Trevor has lived for days in silence, not speaking or hearing anything. Winter is barren and, Trevor thinks, so is he.

He’s standing in the middle of his shed clothes - bare feet surrounded by fabric - and in the mirror he can see his sunken cheeks, the bags under his eyes. He knows his hair is hanging pathetically over his forehead, limp and nearly brown with moisture. He looks like shit, barren and depressed and alone and hurt, so Trevor opens the door.

He opens the door and Shane is there, barefoot as well. Shane is just wearing a long sleeve shirt and jeans - he looks so different. So _nervous_. He shifts from foot to foot and if Trevor looks past his eyes, the younger man can almost see the silent, rolling death in Shane that takes over the Valley in the winter. Trevor sees that same look behind his eyes in the mirror, sometimes. He’s heaving in breath, struggling because Shane is so… Shane. He’s soft in the right places - work on the farm had turned Trevor hard in every place - and Shane smells like his favorite brand of beer.

Less and less so since Trevor hauled him off of the pier and left him to sleep in the guest room, though. He thinks that’s when he began to compare Shane to the winter. Or, perhaps, the winter to Shane.

“Are you okay?” Shane gestures to his own midsection, eyes stubbornly on Trevor’s face. If only he would look down - even at his lips - then the farmer would have an excuse, a reason, to think that there is a possibility that the attraction, the heat in the arches of his feet and the twisting in his chest, was mutual.

“No.” Trevor says. He steps toward Shane.

“Should I go get Harvey?”

“No.” Trevor has to work on his delivery because the single syllable makes Shane look away, fidgeting. He wants Shane, wants to feel the skin to skin contact he hasn’t had for years. He can’t remember what it feels like to feel another’s skin somewhere else but your hands; JoJa’s schedule had stolen that from him and the farm hadn’t given it back. But what he wanted: real connections with other people - it’s here. It’s in front of him. It’s flushing up it’s neck and he’s reaching out for it, fingers trailing over it’s cheekbones.

Shane shudders a breath, lungs working overdrive to match the way his eyes avoid looking at Trevor. He watches Shane’s eyes close, the way the man’s head turns into the touch, and thinks that he wasn’t the only one starving because of JoJa. Shane’s cheeks may not be as gaunt as his, but the way they chase the hot slide of skin, Trevor knows he’s _hungry_.

“Trevor.”

His voice is like One of Spring, rushing in, bringing with it a new season and growth. Trevor feels emotion thrumming under the surface of his skin and he wants a drink. Hell, he wants his _pills_ again. But Shane says his name again, stepping forward until they can feel the heat of each other in the frigid but getting warmer home, and Trevor thinks that maybe the only pill he needs is one that can make Shane say his name breathy and low and over and over. By pulling his hand away, Shane leans toward him like some sort of sick pendulum and Trevor meets him halfway.

It’s awkward and uncomfortable until their lips slot together. Then it’s bursting with light and heat and it’s no longer winter in the house. The snow falls heavy outside, covering the land with nothing but heavy powder, but it’s summer in Trevor’s house. He has plenty of things to do, but most of them are Shane.

He doesn’t know who moves them farther inside the bathroom, but he doesn’t care. The bathroom sits next to the fireplace and it’s either heating up because of the slide of their lips together or because of that. Trevor groans when his hips hit the sink, his hands fisting in Shane’s shirt. He’s not wearing a shirt - only his boxers - and he can’t help but feel exposed. Like budding flowers in spring, or leaves changing colors for voyeuristic villagers to watch and snap under their boots.

He removes Shane’s shirt before he can process the whines of the shorter man. When he does he groans, brows furrowing. Trevor is hard, his whole body is throbbing, and Shane is hard, too. He pushes Shane back against the sink and unbuckles his pants, thinking somewhere in the back of his mind that he’ll have to grow peppers when they’re in season if not only for a reason to see Shane. Trevor sucks on Shane’s neck, hands gliding and soaking in the flushed skin that’s revealed as Shane squirms and strips, stuck between Trevor and the sink.

They’re both shuddering when Trevor stops, one hand on Shane’s dick and the other holding him up as he leans over the man. “I want to fuck you,” He says, voice low and lewd. He’s staring at himself in the mirror, observing the way Shane covers most of him bar his face, hanging over Shane’s shoulder. “God, I want to fuck you until you can’t come anymore.”

“God…” Shane shudders straight down to his dick, and Trevor feels it quiver in his palm. “Trevor…” They push together at the same time, cocks sliding against one another as Trevor’s hand falls from his grip on Shane’s dick to his hip. “Have you ever…”

“All the time, in college. I was just a little twink then, though.” He sucks a bruise into Shane’s shoulder, “Then I joined the Gridball team, buffed up, and became a jock.” Shane’s shaky hands are on his cock now, pressing and pulling in the way only another man can. “Have you?” He’s looking at Shane’s body in the mirror, now, ready to burst.

“Yeah, _yeah_ , I have.” Shane’s words are broken by little whimpers as they rock together, shaking the wooden sink base, and he sucks in a deep breath. “It’s been so long.” Trevor grits his teeth and plants his feet when he hears Shane whine. “I’ve been thinking about this, about you, since Summer.”

Trevor groans and then everything else is a blur. He knows Shane says his name, he knows that he’s going to get Shane on his knees and swallowing his cock again someday, but when he really comes to, eyes meeting his reflection, his balls are pressed against Shane. Shane who’s mewling and begging and looking absolutely debauched in the mirror. Trevor is grateful he paid nearly 200G for the stupid thing, now, because watching Shane’s eyes roll back into his head is the only thing he wants to focus on.

“Do you like that?” Trevor asks, back so from the way he’s draped over Shane, hips working overtime. His question comes out lewder than he wanted it to - he wants to check on Shane, make sure Shane is experiencing the same rush of heat, trill of nerves as the rock against one another each searching for their release. “Fuck, Shane, you feel so good.”

“Ye _-es!_ ” Shane’s moans are broken and he’s pushing back against Trevor just as much as Trevor is pushing forward, “Fuck, Trev, fuck fuck _fuck_.” Shane comes long and hard, Trevor thankful for his newfound farmhand stamina. He keeps fucking Shane.

He can’t help it: the sounds Shane makes as he collapses against the mirror echo around the bathroom and Winter doesn’t feel barren anymore. In fact, Winter feels like it’s hot and cold at the same time, like his crops are all fully grown and flourishing, and Shane is groaning, screaming, underneath him and Trevor could do this for the rest of Winter. He’s growing tired - or maybe he’s close to coming - and Shane is yowling, now. He’s clawing at the sink, begging and pleading for Trevor to keep going, keep rutting, keep doing _anything_.

Trevor can’t hold out much longer and he knows it. He knows once it’s done any affection Shane holds for him will be gone. He knows as soon as they’re cleaned up and dressed Shane will leave - that’s what they all did. That’s what they all _do_.

So he holds out until he’s seeing stars. He holds out until he can’t breathe through it. He holds out until sweat is pouring down his naked body, wound be damned, and he’s not sure if it will ever feel like winter in the bathroom again.

The ache builds and the arch of his feet seize, dropping his body on top of Shane - who’s yowling with another orgasm - and then Trevor’s mouth drops open, his eyes close painfully tight, and he can’t fucking hear anything. Eventually, these feelings fade, but how long it has taken he’s not sure. Shane is still panting beneath him. Trevor can’t feel his legs and his vision is still waning in and out with each breath. He’s already feeling the bite of loneliness as he pulls away from Shane, shuddering and moaning as they slip on clothes and sweat. Shane is all loose limbs and flushed face, nearly collapsing when he puts his full weight on his legs. Trevor can’t meet his eyes, instead stumbling over to sit on the toilet. Shane’s back hits the door and he slides to the floor.

They both look wrecked. They’re both sweaty. And they’re both afraid to look each other in the eyes. Eventually, they both dress and make it to the couch where the beer is warm and the food is cold. Trevor chooses _Queen of Sauce_ and Shane settles into his side. It’s cold outside, the fields nothing but feet of white snow. Trevor is the first to speak, his lips grazing Shane’s temple. “Did you mean it? That you’ve been thinking about it since Summer? You don’t have to stay if you’re uncomfortable.”

“No,” Shane says, “This is the most comfortable I’ve been since I moved back to Pelican Town.”

Trevor smiles and watches the Queen of Sauce prep her chocolate cake. “I was worried. Worried that you… Didn’t want anything more. Do you want anything more? After this- after we wake up in the morning and shower, I mean. Is there a _future_ for us, Shane?”

The Queen of Sauce finishes her cake, brandishing it to the camera. Across the snowy fields, a Junimo runs through the powder, leaving footprints in it’s wake.

That night the fire dies naturally, the living room as barren as the winter outside.


End file.
